


The Ghost Of You

by redpantsandjam (fullonzombae)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fem!John - Freeform, Grief, Mourning, Not Canon Compliant, Post Reichenbach, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1438879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullonzombae/pseuds/redpantsandjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>November 3rd 2013, and upon returning to London, Sherlock plans to return to Johanna. However, Mycroft has news that will tear his world apart</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost Of You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Still Here](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/44128) by Johannaof221b (roleplay with Sherlockof221bposts) Prologue. 



“You’ve been keeping an eye on her, I hope,” Sherlock had asked as he adjusted his suit as gingerly as possible. Had he looked at Mycroft, he would have seen the look of concern on his brother’s face. 

“Sherlock, I…” 

As the explanation fell from Mycroft’s lips, clumsy and uneasy, Sherlock felt as if the world was spinning. She wasn’t supposed to be dead; this wasn’t how everything was supposed to happen. It was then that the little spark of hope went out. 

For the first two weeks, he rarely left her grave, finding himself often kicked out by the cemetery caretaker at dusk— only to return hours later to scale the fence that surrounded it. Perhaps if he spent long enough, she’d come back to him. 

Five weeks, three days and nineteen hours after his return, and he found himself on top of St. Barts once more. 

“One little push, Sherlock… One little jump, and you can have her back.” It were as if Moriarty were still there. Only, should Moriarty be the one to reunite him with Johanna, would that not turn the villain to the hero? He hadn’t felt Sally’s fingers curl around his sleeve, the tears still rolling down his cheeks. 

“Sherlock. Come down from there. Please.” There was a rare concern to her voice, and Sherlock looked down at her in confusion, taking a moment to register who it was stood by his side. “Don’t do this to Greg. Please, Sherlock…”   
But still his expression remained blank, turning back to the spot where Johanna had stood just two years earlier as he said his goodbye. Was it better that he’d never told her how he felt, he wondered, not noticing that Sally had taken his hand, not feeling her pulling him back from the roof. 

Nine weeks, five days, and ten hours.   
Greg had finally relented on his constant supervision of the detective. From the moment he woke, until the moment he fell asleep, usually days later, Sherlock found himself surrounded by people, out of Greg’s fear that next time, no-one would be there to reach him in time. The fridge was constantly stocked, the kettle constantly boiling. It had taken almost four weeks for a mug to go flying across the living room with a demand for Sally to call him a freak. Like the old times. 

Eighteen weeks, one day, and three hours.  
He promised himself he’d stop counting soon. He promised he’d stop staring at the empty chair in front of him. He’d start taking cases soon. But he could never promise himself he’d stop hearing that voice taunting him. 

“It’s your fault, Sherlock…”


End file.
